


Ashes of Destiny

by SweetTexasIcedTea



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, F/M, It's Skyrim and Mag7 of course there's violence, M/M, Matthew dies, Maybe - Freeform, More Pairings to Come - Freeform, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Swearing, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTexasIcedTea/pseuds/SweetTexasIcedTea
Summary: After one life as heroes, the Magnificent Seven and their two employers have earned their rest.  But another world calls, one in greater danger than any of them could imagine.  Reincarnated into a new world of magic, war, and dragons, the heroes have to face a new destiny and a new set of enemies.Or: The Mag7-Skyrim Crossover No One Asked For





	1. The Champions Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, dixiethambelina, and my best friend, onexfeatherxleft, for helping me get this thing up here!! And thanks to thrillingest and apollymi and http://katsuko1978.tumblr.com for being such amazing authors and inspirations!!
> 
> I do not own any of this content except for the unholy brainchild crossover being produced. I am not profiting from this in any way. 
> 
> (Jesus, look at how old I am, still branding these things with disclaimers!)

Skyrim was a land in chaos, just as the Empire they were a part of was in chaos. It was no wonder, then, that the Nine Divines decided to bestow a gift upon the land. Nine souls of strength and importance, forged in the fires of war, taken from their own world too soon. Each Divine had chosen one to be their avatar on earth, the personification of that which they valued and their champion against the darkness soon to fall. 

Arkay chose the soul that was most fair and just, one who weighed balance in every decision, though his Champion would choose to walk a path shaped in the shadows. Arkay’s hero was a one who gave the gifts of life and death as directed. As such, Arkay gave the assassin the gift of a clear mind so his judgment would always be balanced.

Mara selected the most generous of the seven, a man with a kind and loving heart, one who would fight to the end to keep what he loved safe. This man had sacrificed everything for those he considered family. The outlaw found favor in the Mother Goddess’s eyes for such devotion and was given the gift of magic. It would always come naturally to him, especially when used to heal or protect.

Kynareth had always favored her fellow warriors and those who lived on luck. Her choice had perhaps been the easiest of all the Nine. She had claimed the gambler without hesitation. Kynareth had always been the quickest of her fellows to make decisions, unbound and wild as the cloud and sky that was her domain. Her Champion was just as free as she was, a prime example of the brilliance that came with riding the winds. She gave him the connection to nature she so treasured.

Mercy and justice require a rare kind of courage, a quiet kind, one that Stendarr was determined had to exist in his Champion. As the god of Righteous Might and Merciful Forbearance, there was little else he treasured more. Righteousness is a rare trait in mortals and so the Divine had to choose carefully. Who better than the one capable of forgiving abominable, abhorrent crimes against his people? Stendarr chose the warrior for his strong heart, giving him the gift of diplomacy to translate his compassion to action.

Zenithar took time to choose a Champion. He knew the value of patience, as it was necessary to work hard. All of the seven fulfilled his requirements to some extent, and he had difficulty deciding on just one. In the end, though, he chose the tracker as his champion. The Divine understood that the mortal had just not had enough opportunity to avoid violence in his first life and was only incited to bloodshed after the loss of his family. So, Zenithar gave him the gift of patience to curb his violent tendencies.

The last of these three Divines, Julianos, had debated each candidate calmly and rationally before choosing the sharpshooter. The god of wisdom and logic knew that his Champion would be tested, for wisdom cannot come without experience and suffering. Thus, the sharpshooter was given the gift of mental fortitude so he could endure his path and emerge stronger.

Dibella was the Goddess of Beauty, yes, but she was also the patron of love and friendship and the arts. The boy she chose was the youngest, sweetest, and kindest of the group. He was one who would go to the ends of the earth for friendship, one inspired by the strength and wisdom of others to be his best. He suited her and she gave him the gift of music, to sooth the most savage of souls.

Talos, Hero of Man, knew that his Champion had to be special just as the Divine himself had been in his mortal life. Talos was an ascended Divine, a mortal hero of such renown and honor he was given a place in the pantheon. His Champion would have to be just as exemplary. The bounty hunter and leader fulfilled every single qualification. He was a true hero with honor and the courage to do the right thing. He was more than worthy to by Talos’ champion.

Now, the last Champion was perhaps the strongest. She was fire tempered into an icy rage. She flared bright and glowing, a being of courage and will and kindness. She had been the easiest and most difficult decision the last Divine, the King of the Divines, ever faced. Akatosh needed a dragon and the avenger was most certainly one. So, he reluctantly placed the burden of being his avatar upon her shoulders. It was more than he could ask, should ask, of her and her family once more. But there was no one else to ask.

So, the Nine Divines had their Nine Champions. Hopefully, they would be enough to stand against the coming darkness. If not, the world would be consumed and left to nothing but a void. All would cease and become nothing, collapsing every realm, and would be subject to the hunger.

The World-Eater had awoken and he was powerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear:
> 
> 1\. Billy is the Champion of Arkay, God of the Cycle of Life, Death, and Mortals  
> 2\. Vasquez is the Champion of Mara, Goddess of Love, the Mother Goddess  
> 3\. Faraday is the Champion of Kynareth, Goddess of Air  
> 4\. Red Harvest is the Champion of Stendarr, God of Mercy and Justice  
> 5\. Horne is the Champion of Zenithar, God of Work and Commerce, Trader God  
> 6\. Goody is the Champion of Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic  
> 7\. Teddy is the Champion of Dibella, Goddess of Beauty  
> 8\. Sam is the Champion of Talos, Hero God of Mankind, God of Might, Honor, State, Law, Man, War, and Governance  
> 9\. Emma is the Champion of Akatosh, The Dragon God of Time and Chief of the Pantheon
> 
> Feel free to visit me at sweettexasicedtea


	2. The First Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Actual Chapter!! We meet Faraday, Vasquez, and Billy!

**4th of Morning Star, year 200 of the Fourth Era**

“By Malacath’s bloody hammer, the world’s gone insane,” a tall, muscled orc muttered to his ale, shaking his head. Kleppr, the owner of the Silver-Blood Inn and purveyor of alcohol, snorted derisively at the drunken orc, “Don’t say it, Kleppr.”

“World’s always been mad, gro Bagol. You’d best remember that.”

“Joshua gro Faraday, Kleppr. I ain’t got the same pa as my siblings,” Joshua snapped, eyes betraying the amusement at the long-standing joke. His skin was a pale olive, far lighter than the darker colors of his two smith siblings, and his facial features were softer than the usual rough-hewn orc. His copper curls and bright emerald eyes also betrayed his heritage, that of a human father, rather than pure orsimer. Joshua looked more human than mer and that made it far easier for mortals to warm up to him.

Until they tried a brawl or gambling.

Still, he was close with his siblings and often made a point to visit them here in Markath. Even if it usually ended in arguments and Josh being forced to get a room at the Inn. At least Kleppr was a good ear.

“Fine, gro Faraday, world came from chaos and it’s natural state is chaos. Peace is rare and unnatural.”

“Kleppr, ya sound like one of them Dark Brotherhood Assassins,” Joshua shot back, grinning around his sharp tusks, “Dronin’ on about chaos and the void.”

“Shut it, you great big dumbass. You still looking for a follower to help with jobs?”

“Yeah. Always. These bandit and Forsworn camps are out of control. Nearly died in that last camp,” Joshua shuddered with a grimace, “Hargravens and Briarhearts. I need backup, preferably magical.”

“Ugh. Unnatural force. Heard there’s a mage for hire up in Windhelm, a good ‘un. Even if he doesn’t use a proper weapon.”

“Thanks, Kleppr. I’ll head that way in the morning,” Josh rolled his eyes at the old barkeep, “Your wife is coming. And she sound’s more pissed off than usual.”

Josh snickered as the man ducked under the bar and left a considerable amount of gold on the table for the drink and the entertainment the ever fighting couple provided. It was better than listening to any bard. He’d retire early. The journey to Windhelm was long and he would need to get up before dawn to make good time.

Hopefully, this mage would be worth it. Josh certainly needed one around to keep his ass alive.

In said miserably cold and bleak city, a dark-haired imperial shuddered a bit as the icy fingers of fate trailed over his neck. Or maybe it was just the hellishly cold wind. Who could tell in the frozen hell that was Windhelm?

No mater what disgusting and chilling bitter thing had touched him, Alejandro Vasquez of Kvatch was Not Happy. The dark headed Imperial buried himself under a fur cloak that did little to help as he walked through the iced sludge of the aptly named Grey Quarter. The Dunmer who lived in the slums were far more hospitable to a mage’s company than the prejudiced Nords in the other sections. They understood what Alejo’s red and black robes meant.

They marked him as a true Master of his craft, a mage of skill and training. These robes meant he was a very, very dangerous man to cross. Hell, all Alejo wanted was some damned human decency but apparently being Imperial by birth and mage by choice made him an enemy.

He gritted his teeth and continued his pace. That boy might actually talk to him today. Alejo knew someone had to talk sense into the boy before he actually tried that cursed Black Sacrament, making a deal with the dangerous Dark Brotherhood.

That was far more important than his own personal vendetta against the cold. Or that weird sense that something big was coming his way. Alejo swore under his breath as another icy wind hit him face on and scowled. Fuck this Skyrim weather.

“Doing okay there, Alejo?” Idesa called as she walked with her young charges, all the children of Clan Cruel-Sea, firmly in hand, “Not too cold?”

“Frozen through and missing Kvatch!” He laughed, secretly pressing sweets into the children’s hands while Idesa pretended not to notice with a fond eye roll. They both giggled and waved at him as they followed their nanny home. Alejo chuckled softly and moved on, feeling a bit better. Still, he’d be happy if he could get Aventus out of that cursed house and safe into his room at the New Gnisis Cornerclub with Sofie.

Alejo shot a poisonous sneer in the direction of the ‘Palace of the Kings’, cursing Ulfric the Jackass for his shitty ruling. He knocked on the Aretino Residence’s front door, “Aventus, hijo? You need to come out. Do you remember me? Alejo Vasquez, the mage from the docks? Grimvar, you, and I played tag with Scouts-Many-Marshes.”

Silence echoed from behind the door and Alejo sighed, “Aventus, I’m here to help. I have a room at New Gnisis. Sofie is staying with me right now and she’d love company while I’m on jobs. There’s always a place for you, hijo. No orphanage. You come by when you’re ready, okay? Just… Don’t do anything stupid.”

Alejo walked away with a defeated sigh, deep in thought. Distracted, he never noticed the solid black Khajeet slip out of the shadows. If he had, Alejo would have panicked at the sight of the legendary armor that was the subject of so many horror stories. The Khajiit purred in amusement at the unfocused mage before slipping into the house to discover what the child was calling for.

After all, the Night Mother had commanded Bilam to discover exactly why a little boy was performing the Black Sacrament so determinedly. Billy was one of two remaining assassins from his Sanctuary, destroyed by those determined to see the end of the Dark Brotherhood. Cicero guarded the Night Mother on their journey to safety in the last intact Sanctuary and Billy was sent to fulfill the contract.

Billy had always taken to assassination work with ease. The Night Mother and Lord Sithis did not demand death unless it was deserved. Others would feel a sense of discomfort at such a life, but Billy had always found an elegant simplicity in it. Someone would cry out for justice and the Unworthy would be selected for death. It was far less complicated than war with its shades of gray.

Billy liked the balance of it. Simple. Just.

He listened, barely restraining a growl as Aventus demonstrated exactly why he wanted a woman dead. So that was why the Mother had been insistent enough to talk to one of her Silencers in lieu of a true Listener. It seemed Billy had business in Riften to tend to.

The black Khajiit dropped the note, a piece of paper with a Black Hand stamped upon it, to tell Aventus the contract had been accepted. Then, Billy disappeared back into the shadows. It was time to restore the balance.

Not to mention the fact that his husband was in Riften and Billy would dearly love a few days alone with the elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faraday is an orc warrior.  
> Vasquez is an Imperial master mage (and a total softie who picks up strays all the time).  
> Billy is a Khajiit assassin who is absolutely terrifying in the best possible way.


	3. Riften Hunters

**11th of Morning Star, year 200 of the 4th Era**

Goodnight was strong. He had been tempered in hellfire and emerged a knight in battered, serviceable armor. He had wisdom in spades thanks to these experiences.

Once, many years before and under a different name, he had enthusiastically served a horrific organization whose goal was genocide and slavery of all other races. In his youth, the Altmer had followed the doctrine with little thought, despite all of his intelligence. At least, not until he was asked to murder his own younger brother for daring to be born. After that, he had quickly realized that the Thalmor was not anything he wanted to be involved in.

Far too late, though. His ledger was already soaked a deep red. He had much to atone for, but he took any punishment willingly.

He still escaped the Thalmor, ran across Tamriel for years, eventually settling in the sewage pit that was Riften. From there, he managed a spy network and escape routes to subvert every Thalmor scheme. Goody had found a new name and path in the safety of the Thieves’ Guild, who supported his work and was under the management of his beloved brother. He had also found his wonderful husband, Bilum, through a collaboration with the Dark Brotherhood years before when he was in Cyrodiil.

Seven years and the thought of his husband still set him afire. Goody grinned as he walked through the market, humming Ragnar the Red as he passed by, beaming as he was yanked into a shadowed crevice against a familiar chest.

“Hello, my moon,” Billy purred, dark gold eyes glinting with amusement as he nuzzled Goody’s neck, “This one has missed you terribly.

“Billy, darling, I missed you so much,” Goody beamed and kissed Billy, “Are you home for awhile?”

“A few weeks. I just have to… Handle Grelod the Kind.”

“There has never been a woman more deserving of your gift, Billy,” Goody’s smile was hard and angry, “The way she treats those poor children.”

“That is why the Night Mother sent me.”

“She is a wise old corpse,” Goody snickered at his own joke and Billy pointedly rolled golden eyes, “Now, get on that job and hurry back. I have news to share.”

“Yes, my moon.”

Neither man paid particular attention to the old Nord who trundled by. Jakaral Horne was a large, ursine man who wore heavy steel armor over muscles hardened by years at the forge. Jakaral, called Jack, was a man familiar to the streets of Riften and he knew well that these two were married.

The conversation was soft, muffled to all but the absolutely sharpest of ears, so all Horne saw was a happy couple enjoying a private moment. He smiled under his heavy beard, nostalgic with an edge of bitterness, before he moved along with his companion on his heels.

Horne always visited Riften at this time of year, making the long journey from Ivarstead. Officially, he came to trade with the merchants and obtain supplies needed for the winter. His true reason was to visit the Temple of Mara and pay respect to his deceased wife’s patron goddess.

Some days, the old smith still forgot his beloved spouse and their three children had passed to Sovngarde already. Taken by a fever, one after the other, resisting all healing. He remembered how the young mage from the College, Colette, had sobbed when her magic had failed to save each life. The sweet girl still held a special place in his heart.

Still, he grieved for his dead family.

Not all was lost. He had Colette, his daughter in all but blood, and his newly adopted son. He glanced over his shoulder at the silent teenager and felt his burdened heart grow lighter again. Horne had found the young mer alone, beaten, defending himself from a particularly vicious pack of wolves. Horne had helped him kill the beasts then offered the lad a home.

Red was silent, his dark Dunmer eyes usually wary, striking against oak colored skin. Black hair had been carefully shaved into a Nord style Mohawk, his warpaint Bosmer in nature. Horne knew little about his adopted son’s past. Not that it mattered to the old Nord. The boy had showed heart and honor.

“You don’t have to come to the Temple if you don’t want, Red. You can go do whatever you’d like.”

“I want to come,” Red gave his pa a fond look, with the slight smile he rarely used visible. The youth still could not believe the divines had so blessed him. Having a true parent was wonderful.

The young mer had never before had someone to care for him. His father was a nameless Dark Elf who paid for a night with a whore and had never returned. His Bosmer mother had cared more for buying Moon Sugar or Skooma than providing for her son, so Red had grown up alone and cared for himself.

He didn’t hate his parents though he had every reason. His Bosmer mother was just ill, sick, so diseased she couldn’t see how she hurt herself or him with her actions. She was just one of many who had fallen victim to the drugs. His father had never intended to father a child, had even handed over extra gold for contraceptives in order to prevent such a thing. How was he to know that the prostitute was an addict, a Sugar Tooth? It was simple to understand.

So, Red had left and found a proper father. A home of his own and he was truly grateful for the kind, old man. Without him, Red would have been alone. 

It was worth all of the pain just to have that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goody is an Altmer, a high elf, who uses a crossbow and is a master spy.  
> Horne is a Nord warrior and blacksmith with a two handed war axe.  
> Red is a Bosmer, wood elf, hunter.


	4. Devastation

**11th of Morning Star, year 200 of the 4th Era**

Emma Cullian seemed nothing special at first glance, nothing like you would expect Akatosh’s Champion to be. She was a quiet innkeeper, one of few humans in her small village. She, her husband, and her younger brother Teddy ran the Imperial Inn in Rose Creek, an oasis halfway between Rihad and Taneth.

Her husband was also an immigrant to the harsh deserts of Hammerfell, an Argonian named Mathei. Many Redguards were guarded when a family of Imperials arrived in the small town to start an inn. Mathei was the only other non-Redguard in the small village and was more than happy to finally have the benefits of full social interaction once more. Time passed and the four person Cullian family became irreplaceable in the town. Their inn attracted business, especially with Teddy’s talented voice, and that made money flow into the town. The other residents had fully welcomed them with gratitude and kindness. They were happy.

Their happiness was doomed, however. The Cullians had a secret, one that attracted the attention of extraordinarily dangerous people.

The night everything changed for them, Emma and Teddy were out gathering water for the morning before bed. Teddy was grinning, fumbling with the buckets like he was a child, “Tadius Cullian, you are ridiculous.”

“Made you laugh, though,” he grinned, then paused and sniffed the air, “Do you smell-“

“Fire!”

They ran to the edges of their village and stopped in stunned horror. Flames consumed all the buildings and tents, their fellow villagers either dead or herded into the square. They were surrounded by four people in black and Emma nearly choked. A Thalmor Death Squad.

“Teddy, go hide! I’ll see of I can help,” Emma hissed, casting an invisibility spell over herself. Teddy nodded, knowing that he would be useless without his bow and daggers. He had studied music and lore over magic, and would be no help in the coming fight. The young man ducked back into the shadows.

Emma crept forward, staying hidden just in case the spell faded, her ears sharp as she reached a spot where she could see and hear everything.

“Now, now,” the leader drawled, pacing before the huddled group of her friends, “Tell us where the other two Cullians are. I promise we won’t hurt you any further if you just tell us what we want to know.”

There was no answer and he called a shock spell to life, throwing it over all the villagers like a fishing net. Screams and a charred smell rose through the night, sharp and cutting over the lazy rolls of smoke consuming their lives.

“STOP!” Mathei, her sweet and gentle Mathei who never fought people, surged forward, “What did we ever do to you?”

“Mathei, right?” The Altmer drawled, leaning forward over Mathei, fire shining off of cold and dead eyes, “Mathei Cullian? Where’s that pretty wife of yours?”

Mathei’s eyes narrowed. No, no, no. That was his stubborn look. Emma leaded silently, desperately praying that her foolishly noble husband wouldn’t get himself killed. The Argonian smirked, “No.”

“Fine then. I’ll have to be as unpleasant as I was to Lady Helaine,” Emma’s eyes followed his gesture to a crumpled, burned corpse twisted in throes of agony. The woman barely choked down her grief at the sight. Her poor, poor mother, “I suppose you deserve to know who I am, then? Bartriil Baerus, Justiciar of the Thalmor, at your service, Sir Cullian.”

“Go to hell.”

“Now, that won’t do,” the Altmer snapped his fingers and the villagers were under a shock spell once more. Emma shivered as the sharp, metallic burn of electricity overwhelmed the heavy smell of smoke, trying to hold herself together for just a bit longer. She couldn’t afford to get caught.

“Stop! They don’t know anything!!”

“Hm. I suppose not. I only need one sheep to shear, after all. Kill them.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn’t block out the screams or the crack of fire spells. She shook, horrified at the cruelty.

“Now, Sir Cullian, tell me where your wife is or else.”

“Never!” Emma’s eyes flew open as she saw Mathei leap at the bastard and bite his arm, lashing forward in the smooth strikes shared by all reptiles. He went limp not a second later as Bartriil slammed a dagger into his back.

“How disappointing. Leave the bodies to rot. Search the dunes for any sign of the Cullians.”

The Imperial backed away silently, face smoother than polished ice. She’d get Teddy and they’d run. Run somewhere safe. Then she’d train until she got good enough to destroy the Thalmor. The last Septim, the true Empress of Tamriel, was through being a coward.

It was time to fight back.

17th of Morning Star, year 200 of the 4th Era

Prince Samaran of Sentinel stared at the devastation of the Rose Creek Oasis. It was horrific. All the inhabitants had been slain in one night, obviously by magic. There was evidence to indicate Imperial wizards, but Sam knew better. He recognized the work of a Thalmor squad from the injustices heaped upon his people during the war.

When the Aldmeri Dominion went to war with the Empire, Hammerfell launched into preparations to fight back. Sam had been young, maybe fourteen, but he fought like a man three times his age. He was the one who held the city of Hegathe for two years against the High Elves and their magic before the siege was been broken by the fortuitous arrival of their army. He was a hero, though that title had come with the price of seeing the dark things mortals would do to those at their mercy. Men and Mer could both be so needlessly, endlessly cruel.

The Thalmor were a special kind of cruel, though. Sam often associated them with the Daedra demons, as both were noted for horrific, unexplainable brutalities.

But what would possibly draw them to an isolated village like this one? He walked through the ruins and paused, staring down at what must have once been a sign to indicate a local business. Sam’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of the gold dragon there.

Sam's memory went back almost twenty years, to a redheaded woman seeking an audience with his father. She was unremarkable, a typical peasant woman with two children clinging to her skirts. But the eyes. Those piercing gray eyes, shared with the daughter that also inherited her mother’s hair. Then he knew what happened in Rose Creek Oasis.

Sam strode to his camel, calling out orders to his men. They nodded, respectfully obeying their prince and the Hero of Hegathe. It was a boon, as Sam had no time to argue with anyone.

His father and brother needed to know that the Thalmor and Dominion knew that the Septim line wasn’t as dead as the rest of the continent believed. Two hundred years and the secret his family had kept from everyone was blown open.

It was either very good or very, very bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma is a human, Imperial warrior. Her preference will be for war axes  
> Teddy is a human, Imperial bard and archer.  
> Sam is a Redguad Prince and general.
> 
> If it wasn't clear:
> 
> 1\. Billy is the Champion of Arkay, God of the Cycle of Life, Death, and Mortals  
> 2\. Vasquez is the Champion of Mara, Goddess of Love, the Mother Goddess  
> 3\. Faraday is the Champion of Kynareth, Goddess of Air  
> 4\. Red Harvest is the Champion of Stendarr, God of Mercy and Justice  
> 5\. Horne is the Champion of Zenithar, God of Work and Commerce, Trader God  
> 6\. Goody is the Champion of Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic  
> 7\. Teddy is the Champion of Dibella, Goddess of Beauty  
> 8\. Sam is the Champion of Talos, Hero God of Mankind, God of Might, Honor, State, Law, Man, War, and Governance  
> 9\. Emma is the Champion of Akatosh, The Dragon God of Time and Chief of the Pantheon
> 
> Feel free to visit me at sweettexasicedtea


	5. A New Partnership

**26th of Morning Star, year 200 of the 4th Era**

Joshua gro Faraday wrinkled his broad nose at the Windhelm guards and marched on, passing the main inn. All mer and most non-Nord humans knew better that to try to stay at Candlehearth Hall. The Nord residents of Windhelm were among some of the most racist in Skyrim. The Grey Quarter was far more hospitable and had infinitely better food. Nords were bound and determined to keep things as traditionally tasteless as possible.

Josh was sick of bland food.

He walked through the streets with his usual blunt purpose, shivering as his eyes passed over one house in particular. Josh was no mage, had little talent for magic outside of a few basic spells, but he was sensitive to it. The magic radiating out of that building was old, ancient, and heady. It was not tinged with the evil of Daedric magic, like the Forsworn or their shrines or that one cursed house in Markath, but still it rankled him.

The orc gulped and hurried his steps a bit. His instincts screamed at him to leave it be and Josh knew better than to go against his gut. Some other fool could investigate what was going on in that place.

He opened the door to the New Gnisis Cornerclub, brushing snow from his hair with a scowl, “I hate Windhelm.”

“You and every other mer, Orc,” the bartender snorted, “What do you want with our little piece of Oblivion?”

“A drink, food that has some actual taste to it, and information,” Josh grinned, sitting at the bar with practical grace, leaning forward, “Joshua gro Faraday, my friend.”

“Ambarys Rendar, orc,” the Dunmer eyed Josh with suspicion and Josh just grinned back, eyes bright and wicked. The other elf snorted a laugh and dropped a tankard in front of him, “So. You’re looking for proper food?”

“Gods, yes. Nords can’t cook for shit usually,” Josh snorted, making a face, “The only spice they use is SALT.”

“Well, they’re a plain people,” Ambarys cackled, setting a bowl in front of the orc.

“Is this curry laksa?” Josh whispered, eyes going a bit wet, “How-“

“I’ve gotta source,” the Dunmer grinned, “A Dunmer outside of town has a greenhouse and grows tropical ingredients. My mother was a cook and I learned many, many mer recipes from her. So, you get traditional Orsimer fare, just like in the citadel itself.”

“It’s almost worth dealing with Ulfric Lardbrain and his moronic dipshits to have food like this!” Josh savored his first bite of his favorite dish, eyes sliding shut, “You are a gift from the Divines themselves, my friend.”

“Divines,” Ambarys scoffed, nose wrinkled, “You’re one of them?”

“Ma was one,” he shrugged, eyes far away, “Her ancestor served the Blades during the Oblivion Crisis. He fought at the last battle in Imperial City and saw the Dragon fight Mehrunes Dagon himself. Can’t believe in the great power of the Daedra after seeing that, y’know?”

“Humph. All that horseshit about Martin Septim sacrificing himself?”

“It did happen,” Josh chuckled, relaxed and calm as he ate, “But you’re entitled to your own beliefs. So, about that information. I heard there was a mage for hire here. A good one. I need someone to keep my fool ass alive in the field.”

“Alejo would be damn happy for a job, but there’s a small complication.”

“No such thing as complications. Just a bad hand. Kynareth always deals a good one after awhile,” Josh waved his spoon, “Luck solves all my problems easily.”

“… You are odd, my friend. Alejo should be back any moment.”

“Thanks for the food,” the orc slid over more than enough coin to cover his meal with a grin.

The door burst open and a child’s laugh rang through the space. A little Nord girl skipped in, her hair in tight, Imperial, styled braids and her face clean. She wore a lovingly patched red dress and an old book in her hand, a serviceable if worn dagger on her hip. Josh grinned, approving of her bright smile and obvious protection. His eyes moved over to the man accompanying her and his breath caught in his chest.

The man was beautiful. Chiseled featured highlighted by the neatly trimmed beard, dancing eyes that fairly glittered with power, a brilliant smile flashing white against his dark skin and even darker beard. His eyes ran over the body only accented by fitted Master’s robes and sinfully well-tailored leather pants. Josh was doomed if this was the mage. He could already feel his traitorous heart beat faster.

“Ambarys, Ambarys! Papa bought me my first magic book!” The girl snapped Josh out of his staring, something that caused him to flush and he turned gentle emerald eyes on the excitable little girl bouncing in front of him. He never realized the mage was eying him in much the same manner.

Alejo was not nor ever would be ashamed of indicating his interest in a person. This orc before him was certainly very, very fascinating. He was muscled, broad, tall, like most of his kind. But he had a human face, less harsh or rigid than full-blooded orcs. It was the eyes, though, the eyes that attracted Alejo to him. They seemed to glow with strength and an inner confidence and a wicked mischief. Oh, by the Nine, those were the eyes of temptation itself. This orc was most assuredly his type.

Then he leant down to Sofie’s level, “So, he’s already trusting you with a proper book? You must be a very talented little girl, Miss.”

“Thank you, Mister Orc! I’m Sofie Vasquez,” she beamed at the name, so happy to have a family name for the first time. Alejo stroked her hair fondly, smiling proudly down at her while his heart beat even faster, “This is my Papa, Alejo. He’s a Master Mage!”

“Miss Vasquez, I’m Joshua gro Faraday,” the orc winked, grinning. Oh, by the Nine, that grin did things to Alejo’s stomach. It should be illegal, “I’m looking for a mage to give me a hand with my jobs.”

“Papa could do it!”

Alejo chuckled, tugging on her braid gently, “Darling, thank you for the confidence. What jobs? What’s the pay? Where would Sofie stay?”

“The jobs vary. Usually just bandits, Forswarn, and clearing out caves. 500 Septims up front, half of any rewards or bounties. I have a sister in Markath she could stay with, family at multiple orc strongholds, or I’ll help pay for a room at an inn.”

“Hm. Sounds too good to be true.”

“Master Vasquez, I need magic to fight the monsters I go after and I’m utter crap at it. I’ll even help you buy a house for you and Sofie. Please, work for me,” he smiled, eyes bright with the knowledge that there was no way Alejo could refuse such a generous offer, especially given where he was. Jobs for mages were scarce with the Nordic distaste for magic. He needed to provide for his daughter.

Not to mention the fact that Faraday’s true smile should be considered a weapon. Along with those gods damned eyes. 

“I’ll take the job.”

“Yay! I think that was a good idea, Papa,” Sofie beamed and climbed into Faraday’s lap. He almost laughed at the surprise on the orc’s face, then felt himself melt even more as a tender smile emerged around sharp fangs. Faraday was attentive to the human child in his lap, letting her jabber his ear off with full attention.

Alejo was doomed. There was no way he could resist a man like this, even though there was little chance a powerful mer warrior would choose a human mage. At least he had a lovely view. He just chuckled a bit at himself and leaned on the bar to watch.

Sofie was right. This was going to be a good thing for them.


	6. Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Murder husbands present!

**27th of Morning Star, year 200 of the 4th Era**

The Honorhall Orphanage in Riften was silent, almost waiting, the wind stilled as if waiting for something as the night began to give way to dawn. The children were wrapped up safe and their kind caretaker was deeply asleep. The primary caretaker, Grelod the Kind, was in a far less comfortable situation as she was forced to face her own mortality.

Billy hummed cheerfully, twirling his dagger in his hand as he stared down at the old bitch. She was sobbing in the corner, curled into a tight ball, “I ain’t done nothin’! Leave me be, cat!!”

“The Black Sacrament was performed and the Night Mother requires your blood,” the Khajiit purred, tilting his head, “You will die this night, old woman. You should have properly cared for your charges.”

“Now, now, darling,” Goody cooed, slipping into the room, golden eyes narrowed and a nasty smile twisting his handsome face, “No need to torment her. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks, after all.”

“Kids asleep?”

“Dead to the world, safe and sound. Well, they might be faking it but I doubt they’ll care that the bitch is dead anymore than the rest of Riften will. I drugged the other woman. She’ll sleep through the whole thing,” Goody chuckled, leaning against the wall, “Make it quick, we have things to do.”

Grelod the Kind let out a weak moan, “Noooo.”

Billy kicked her in the face, breaking her nose with a vicious crack, smirking at his husband, “This one thinks that it is less things to do and more you to do, my moon.”

“This one thinks that you should hurry your furry ass up, darling,” Goody laughed warmly with a fond eye roll, “You shouldn’t play with your food. It’s not polite.”

The Khajiit made a face and let his dagger fly, ending Grelod’s life with a completely careless flick of his wrist. Normally, he drew out the deaths of those who hard harmed children. Billy fully believed those that would harm the innocent deserved a messy death to say the least, but he could never deny his handsome mate anything. Especially when his eyes, the color of saffron in the sun, speckled with blue, shone with his emotions.

“There. Now, come along. We need to check on Esbern and the Guild before more pleasant things can occur.”

“This one is still amazed you have the entire Thieves’ Guild under your thumb without being a member.”

“Oh, it was all a matter of strategy. Maven Black-Briar agreed it was in everyone’s best interest for Lorion to take over as Guildmaster,” Goody’s smug smile as he mentioned his younger brother said it all.

Lorion was half human, a mistake according to their highly prejudiced and racist Altmer grandparents. Goody had taken a vicious sort of glee in grabbing the boy and running, deserting his social obligations and family and forced conscription into the Thalmor. 

The two brothers had taken to street life with a surprising ease. Lorion had clever fingers well suited to thievery and information gathering. Goody was cunning enough to manage their network and information, eventually joining forces with the rest of those opposed to the Thalmor, including the Royal Family of Hammerfell and what little remained of the Blades.

Billy had come into his life after Goody put out a contract on several vicious Thalmor soldiers he couldn’t kill himself. It had been love at first sight, only deepened by a decade of fighting together.

Hell, Billy had followed Goody all over Tamriel as the elf set up information networks managed by trusted associates, even to the frozen hell of Skyrim when Goody’s baby brother had joined up with the Thieves’ Guild in Riften. Goody built a network while helping his brother steadily ascend to power over a year, drawing a tight network of informants and thieves from his brother’s guildmates.

Was it what Goody had pictured for his brother when they first escaped? No, but Lorian was happy with the work and that was all that mattered to Goody. His baby brother, half Altmer and half Bosmer, deserved all the happiness refused him in childhood by their Daedric loving, insane family. Freedom meant Lorian could do what he liked.

Meant Goody could do what he liked, which led to his building a reputation of ruthlessness and strength so strong that the woman who had previously controlled everything in half of Skyrim willingly worked with him.

“It is quite impressive that she yields to you,” Billy wrapped an affectionate arm around his waist as they slipped out of the orphanage unseen.

“She’s terrified of me and we all know it,” was his smug reply. The Altmer knew he was a force to be reckoned with. He had a cunning mind that had already been the downfall of many of his enemies and a skill with alchemy that made many tremble in fear. If Goodnight Rolandor decided to destroy someone, they would be wiped from history itself. Either by scandal, poison, or his husband’s blade.

Together, they were unstoppable.

The pair slipped into the shadowy safety of the Ratway and the safety of the Guild before anyone else even stirred. Of course, once the body was discovered, a wave of confusion and relief swept through the city. The guards performed a half-assed examination of the room before declaring the case unsolvable, slipping the orphans gold and treats while the new caretaker fretted.

No one was particularly sad to see Grelod dead, and the populace was far more entertained by loudly discussing who had killed her in the market place. Red listened with one ear, perched on a crate, watching everyone around him with sharp eyes while his father did their trading.

Jack was very loudly arguing with Grelka, the nasty cheapskate, and Red had no interest in speaking with her of all people. She was damned unpleasant.

“Hello, Red,” the warmly accented voice made Red’s heart beat a bit faster and he turned to smile warmly at Brand-Shei.

“Morning,” the young wood elf offered, voice and face betraying none of the signs that Brand-Shei made him feel like a foolish, lovestruck girl, “Have any luck finding information on your birth?”

“Sadly, none. Father doesn’t know anything except my blanket and I’ve had no luck finding where that ship ended up,” Brand-Shei sighed, shaking his head, “It’s like the damn thing vanished.”

“It probably just wrecked somewhere.”

“Good idea, Red!”

He actually colored as Brand-Shei ruffled what little hair Red had affectionately, staring up at the older Dark Elf with wide dark eyes. Red willed the flush to go down before the older elf noticed. He didn’t need another discussion on age differences. It had been bad enough last time with his Pa and Goody, the kind Altmer Jack brought information to on occasion.

In fact, Red could feel those amused amber eyes on him as he looked across the market into Goody’s teasing face. Dammit, he was in for it now. Goody would never let this go.

“Red! Go get those supplies!”

“Yes, Pa!” Red waved goodbye to Brand-Shei and passed Goody on his way to the Pawned Prawn, feeling as though his face was still on fire.

The Altmer was snickering and murmured, “Baby elf, you should find someone closer to your age.”

“Isn’t your husband fifty years younger than you?” Red’s face was blank but there was venom in his voice.

“Only fifteen, actually. His breed of Khajiit are as long lived as we elves,” Goody laughed outright, patting his shoulder, “You’re a good kid, Red.”

Red palmed the small role of paper his Pa had given him to the high elf with a scowl, disguising the motion with a moody teenaged shrug. He knew well what they were giving to Goody. Information on the movements of the Thalmor.

After loosing most of his birth family to the bastards, Red was more than happy to help. Goody winked and let Red walk to the shop. By the time Red reached the door, the High Elf had vanished again. He barely hid a smirk as the satisfaction of pulling another job over on the Thalmor jackasses sank in.

It was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK GUYS I GOT FANART!!! THIRD IMAGE!!! IT'S OF JOSH AND ALEJO BEING RIDICULOUSLY ADORABLE
> 
>  
> 
> <https://thrillingest.tumblr.com/post/159962674369/all-right-so-we-have-one-more-sketch-of-punkv>  
> 


	7. Travels

**28th of Morning Star, year 200 of the 4th Era**

Josh swept a laughing Sofie up onto the back of the new flea bitten mare he and Vas had purchased from Windhelm stables. She was steady with a cool head, a gentle soul perfect for carrying Sofie. His own Jack was far too temperamental to be trusted with the small girl. Sofie clung to the saddle horn with a bright smile.

Vas was still staring at the hold with a soft frown, “Should I go knock again?”

“If the boy didn’t answer the first fifty times, he ain’t gonna now,” Josh shook his head, “You did what you could, Vas. We gotta get goin’. I want to make it to Mixwater Mill before sundown, see if Gilfre will let us stay the night.”

“A friend?”

“I do some work for her,” Josh shrugged with a sheepish smile, “Hopefully we’ll only have to camp out one night. A steady pace with minor altercations will get us to Whiterun in three days.”

Sofie leaned out of her saddle, “Then we go to Markath? Or Solitude?”

“Your papa hasn’t made that decision yet, little bug,” Josh grinning and patted her leg as Alejo swung himself into the saddle behind Sofie. The orc mounted his own beast and they departed, Windhelm behind them. Alejo would not miss the city, but he would miss the Grey Quarter’s residents. He had Sofie with him and a job, which was more than enough.

The mage smiled down at his daughter and then over at his new acquaintance as he went deep in thought. Josh had been kind to offer so much to them, but Alejo was worried he wouldn’t be able to afford to house his daughter properly. An orc stronghold would be safe, but would Sofie be happy with just orc children to play with?

Would she be able to assimilate to such a different culture?

Truly, he would love to leave her in Markath with Josh’s siblings. From what the orc said, his sister Ghorza enjoyed children and would gladly teach Sofie to smith. It would be a good place for his girl, if Markath wasn’t the target of vicious Forsworn raids. Alejo was not going to subject his little girl to such danger.

“Vas,” the Imperial started and turned to Josh. The orc offered a small smile, “I have a couple of jobs in Whiterun and Morthal. We could stay there for a bit until you decide.”

“I-I would like that very much, Josh, thank you.”

Sofie leaned back against his chest with a cheerful sound, bright eyes on the road ahead, “You’ll make the right choice, Papa. I know you will.”

“Thank you, mija,” Alejo kissed her hair tenderly, smiling softly. Sofie was right. He would make the right decision for her when the time came.

For now, they needed to travel.

Another set of travelers also moved quickly, though their progress was hampered by the ever-shifting sands of the Hammerfell desert. Emma kept a grip on her brother’s sleeve, dragging him behind her, determinedly fighting to move forward. They had to keep moving no matter what. It would dishonor the sacrifices their entire family had made to keep them safe if they got caught.

“I can’t go on, Emma,” Teddy half collapsed, only held up by her clutching the tattered fabric of his shirt, “I can’t do it.”

“You have to! We can’t let them catch us!”

“It’s pointless! Ma’s dead, Mathei’s dead, all our friends are dead! Why?”

“Because you and I are the last Septims, that’s why! And we’re going to take back what’s ours. No more running, no more hiding. We’re going to claim that throne and defeat the Thalmor.”

“How?”

“We’re going to Skyrim. Ma had contacts. A Blade named Esbern and an Altmer rebel named Rolander. They’re based in Skyrim. We find them, we plan, we take. You’re going to go to the Bard’s College in Solitude while I muster our forces.”

Teddy whimpered softly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We’re going to win,” Emma’s gray eyes were fierce and angry as she dragged Teddy behind her, “It’ll take us a year to make it to Skyrim. At least. Teddy, I promise I’ll keep you safe no matter what.”

Teddy nodded and started moving again, panting in the heat. His sister was amazing. Always had been. She excelled in almost everything except for the arts and personal relationships. Teddy, though, was a bard. He was good with people, talented with many instruments, and skilled with a bow.

The bard smiled a bit as he realized how he could help his sister. Teddy could easily gather forces and allies for the serious Emma. He could barter and bargain and bluff in ways that she couldn’t, even if he wasn’t good enough at lying to cheat anyone. But Teddy had always gotten fair prices.

He would be the best support for Emma he could be. She would be an amazing empress. Emma was strong, smart, and kind. But she was no fool and she knew when to let logic rule rather than her emotions. Just like now. She was probably reeling and devastated over losing everything. Especially losing her Mathei. He had been her guiding star for so long. They had almost been like one person rather than a couple. She was missing half her soul, her heart shattered, but she still soldiered on.

Teddy bolstered himself. He wouldn’t fail his older sister, not when she needed him to be strong. Not when she needed his support.

Skyrim waited for them.


End file.
